


All The Air I Breathe Has Aftertaste

by fridaysblues (taemin)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Police, Detectives, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Warning: Kris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemin/pseuds/fridaysblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is this—is this about the last case?" Joonmyun swallows noisily. "Because you don't—you've still got some sick leave coming to you, if you need some more time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Air I Breathe Has Aftertaste

The corpse is long-dead and stinking by the time the call comes in. Some vagrant on the overpass saw something on the bank of the river and called it in, hoping for a ride back into town with the detectives after their work was through.

It's going to be a long night, though. It starts raining halfway through the recovery process and the steep incline turns into a mud slick, the ground sloughing away from underneath the forensics team as they struggle to preserve the evidence as much as possible before it's all swept away with the current. Wu Yifan's cursing this job for the hundredth time when his partner, Kim Joonmyun, fans an umbrella out and lifts it in the air to block out the worst of the rain.

"Thanks," Yifan mutters, pushing his soggy hair off his forehead. "Obviously didn't think—" He gestures at the grey sky, then the forensics team and Joonmyun nods, a gentle smile on his face that seems odd, given where they are and what they're doing. But it's Joonmyun, so it's not as odd as you'd think.

"I know," he says. "I know you. You never think about these things." Pause. "Did you sleep? You don't look so good."

Yifan watches the way the body goes slack in the coroner's arms, draped across the stretcher like a wet blanket. He feels the color drain out of his face. "Just—this is a grizzly one," he lies. _Two hours,_ he thinks. And enough coffee that he feels his entire body vibrating with the caffeine.

"I see." Joonmyun hums thoughtfully. "Let's get to work, then. The sooner we clear it, the sooner we can all just go home." He turns. The soft look goes out of his eyes. "So what do we have so far?"

Yifan takes the umbrella from him—it's easier for him to hold it—and squints at the notepad in his other hand. The pages are long-since damp, riddled with holes from the point of his pencil pushing through the soft paper. "Not much," he says. "No witnesses. Body's been there a while."

"Washed up?" Joonmyun asks, leaning over Yifan's hands to read his notes. "Dumped somewhere else, maybe?"

"Coroner says no." Yifan flips to the next page. "Floaters are usually unrecognizable. This guy still had a face."

"Male, then."

"I'm assuming, for now." Yifan shrugs. "Who knows, really. It's been out in the sun a few days—you know decomp does some weird shit to bodies."

"An ID?"

"No wallet. Fingerprints are a lost cause. I don't even think the guy has hands anymore." Yifan shudders at the thought and continues. "Going to have to wait for dentals."

Joonmyun frowns, a huge wrinkle marring the skin of his forehead. Opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then closes it again. Yifan resists the urge to smooth it out with the pad of his thumb.

"Detectives?"

Yifan looks up first. Minseok's making his way towards them, drowning in his bright yellow poncho. _Seoul PD_ in big block letters across his chest. _Medical Examiner._ He's such a small guy that his hands barely make it past the sleeves to push a clipboard into Yifan's startled fingers.

"Need you to sign off so we can get out of this mess and indoors." He smiles a little when Yifan scribbles his assent and returns the clipboard. "Hell of a storm, isn't it?"

Yifan nods. "Is it going to be a quick one?"

Minseok looks over his shoulder, then back at Joonmyun and Yifan. His expression changes a little—less jovial, more serious. More appropriate for someone who works with the dead, but knowing Minseok's tendency to want to keep the atmosphere light-hearted, no less troubling.

"Don't count on it," he says finally. The smile's back. "See you guys back at the precinct, then."

 

Yifan parks the car a block away from the station and turns the engine off, lets the rain hammer against the windshield, louder than the radio had been. Joonmyun sits there for a moment, spine stiff and tall against his seat. He closes his eyes and draws a slow breath like he's sucking it through a straw.

"You alright?" he asks finally. "You seemed kind of—I don't know." A pause. "It's just a body, Yifan. We do this all the time."

"I'm fine."

"Is this—is this about the last case?" Joonmyun swallows noisily. "Because you don't—you've still got some sick leave coming to you, if you need some more time."

Yifan waits. The rain is so _loud_ , swallowing them up. He doesn't even hear Joonmyun climb out of his seat until he's pushing back Yifan's seat, reclining him so far back he's lying in the backseat by the time Joonmyun's finished.

"What are you doing?" Yifan asks quietly, catching at Joonmyun's hand when he tries to retreat back to his own side of the front seat. "I can't drive like this."

"Minseok's going to take a while before he has anything for us," Joonmyun says matter-of-factly. He doesn't make an effort to pull his hand away from Yifan's even though they've been holding hands a few beats longer than _just partners_ probably should. "You should take a nap while you still can." He takes another measured breath. "That's why you pulled over, right?"

"I—yeah, sure," Yifan mutters. He doesn't really know why he pulled over, hasn't examined his motivations deeply enough to pinpoint where his muscles took over and yanked the wheel to the shoulder. Joonmyun seems satisfied enough with this not to push, even if he may suspect otherwise.

"So sleep. It's okay, I'll do some work on my phone." He pauses. "You really can't keep on like this, though, Yifan. You're—you have to be able to sleep in your own bed. To do your _job_ —"

"—I'm sorry, you really don't need to be covering for me like this," says Yifan, rubbing his palms across his face hard enough to pink his skin. "I'm—I'll talk to someone, I will."

"Look," Joonmyun says quietly, "I'm worried about you."

All Yifan wants to say is _every time I close my eyes I'm staring down a barrel of a gun_ but the words get lost in the back of his throat. This is stupid. He's a detective. This is the job he signed up for. He shouldn't be having nightmares about this shit.

"Yifan," Joonmyun tries again, breaking through the hazy thoughts, voice steady and warm. "If you need me to stay with you for a little while, you know—just until you're on your feet again, or whatever—I can—"

"No," Yifan says, a little too quickly. "No—I'm fine, really." He opens his eyes, offers Joonmyun an apologetic sort of smile that doesn't give away too much. "Just need some shitty break room coffee and I'll be alright." He pulls the seat upright and twists the key in the ignition. The engine thrums to life underneath them, and Joonmyun retreats.

The silence between them could be miles.


End file.
